


The Forced Entry

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Broken Saber [10]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo and co go to rescue Poe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Forced Entry

Poe isn’t sure how long he’s been in the chair. He thinks it’s been a while. He’s not sure if he’s been given toilet breaks or not. Maybe. He doesn’t feel full in the bladder, which is something. He doesn’t feel hungry, either, but could that be because of extreme exhaustion? 

He’s fairly sure they had briefings on this. About how you’d feel after X-long starvation, or Y-long dehydration, or Z-long sleep deprivation. Probably. He can’t access the information right now, because his head is pounding, his mouth is dry, his eyes are grimy and he just wants to _sleep_. No. Drink. Maybe. Water. Shower. Drink. Sleep. Not in shower. That’s bad.

It’s been too long. There’s no rhythm to it, no pattern, no anything. Just constant, low light. Sometimes unconsciousness, probably. Sometimes delirium. Memories that he thinks are memories, but it’s getting harder to tell.

Some of them feel real enough. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _think_ he punched out a guy for calling his Mom a bad name, but maybe he did. Feels like maybe he might do that kind of thing, because of how much he loved his Mom. In the memory, he felt the anger. He felt the pop of nose under his tiny fist, too, and the way it felt good. He’s - that’s wrong, right? To hit people. Even if they call your Mom names. He thinks it is, but it - it felt so good and - he - back in the memory there hadn’t _been_ any thought of bad and even now the bad feels like it’s at a - at a - distance, and–

But now he’s in the chair and the memory is in the distance, with the other memories. All of them. They seem to all happen at once, or together, and it’s hard to filter through things when they all ram into the forefront of your mind in one go. Bam, bam, bam. Five, fifteen, twenty-five… all at once. There’s no sense of continuity, or perspective, it’s all as loud as the other. 

Poe is _so very tired_.

He’s also glad, in a way, that he’s not _important enough_ for Snoke. Although part of him screams **yes I am** , another part says _keep in your lane, boy, and he won’t pay you any more mind_. Or something. His internal voice keeps sounding weird. Is it him? Or someone else? Or…?

_Coming Poe I’m coming Poe I’m coming–_

Kylo? He stirs, and regrets it. More pain in his temples, and the room keeps spinning long after he stops. He can’t be there. It’s a trick. It’s a trick, like all the others. Memories of him, from him, with him, for him. Memories and hallucinations and attempts to batter his psyche wider open. Kylo. 

He wants him to save him, but he also wants him as far away from this hell-hole as possible. Both. Both at once. Both.

 _Poe hold on I’m going to save you don’t give up don’t give up_.

He wants it to be real.

***

Snap and Chewie have the helm between them. Rey and Luke are ready to board, and Finn mostly came because he doesn’t let Rey charge off into battle without his emotional support. Also, aside from Kylo himself, he’s the most valuable asset with intel about the First Order’s tactics going, and he shoots almost as well as Luke does (and Luke actually said ‘as well as’, but Kylo doubts a non-Sensitive has quite that skill level) if the gunner positions need manning. 

They’re all huddled in the cockpit, and Kylo keeps holding his saber hilt in worry. 

“…is this really the best plan anyone could come up with?” Finn mutters.  


“You’d be surprised by how often plans like this work,” Luke replies.  


“But… fly up and ask to see him? Really? You know how many blasters they have? We’re just one ship!”  


“Which is why we’re less likely to be blown up,” Kylo points out. “If we brought an armada, it would end in a dogfight. With just one ship - and an offer to meet face to face with the only remaining Jedi - Snoke… has wanted this confrontation for the longest time.”  


“What’s stopping him just bombing this ship and everyone in it?”  


“Pride.” Kylo is surprised to say it in unison with Luke, but they share a look, and a little nod.   


“He thinks he’ll win,” Rey says, working out a beat later. “He thinks he’ll destroy the Jedi for good.”  


“But why not–”  


Kylo puts a hand on Finn’s arm. “Because he’s insane. Because it’s part of his insanity. You would be smart, and you would blow us up. Which is why we’re all very grateful you’re not a twisted, Darkside Force-user. If you were, you’d be unstoppable.”

“But…” the ex-trooper frowns at them. “If you had a bomb, capable of it? And you knew Poe was safe, and you knew you’d kill him and win - would you use it?”  


Luke considers it. “If it was certain he would die, perhaps.”

Rey nods. “I would. Definitely.”

Kylo… hesitates. “I would need to know he had gone. I’m… afraid that would be more important than anything else. I would need to _know_.”

“Two outta three is probably the best you’ll get from them,” Snap says. “And we’re almost there. You sure you want me to hail them? We even know this place is right?”  


“Our intel has him here,” Luke says. “And… I can feel him. Please: contact the ship, tell them the Jedi wish to meet with the Leader, and to retrieve what’s ours.”  


“…will do.”  


***

A low amusement. Dark, vicious. Poe doesn’t understand, even as he feels things unshackle, feels himself slipping from the chair down to his knees. He catches his descent with difficulty, hands sending shockwaves of pain up into his elbows. He can’t pinpoint the direction, it feels like it’s coming from every which way. 

**The boy is a coward.**

Poe blinks, trying to feel for a real source of the voice inside his head. The room is murky, and his whole body treacled in pain. He swings his head to one side, tilting to cock his ears, but it doesn’t help.

**He came with the other Jedi.**

Sounds more smart than cowardly, to Poe. And then he processes it better: _the boy. The boy came. Kylo came. Kylo came, for him_. Kylo is here, and Poe doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or both.

**I’ll kill them all.**

“Yeah… we’ll see.”   


The door opens, and a boot impacts with his jaw. It sends his teeth rattling, makes him bite his tongue, and he spits blood out. Hands wrestle him into cuffs, the clips forcing his wrists behind his back. He fights, but it’s half-heartedly. He’s so worn thin, so drawn tight, that he can’t do much of anything to resist, right now. Hands in his hair, on his shoulders, pulling him this way and that. He’s tugged, and he tries to reach with a sense he doesn’t have to a lover he knows is close. 

_Kylo, Kylo, I’m here. I’m here. I’m **here**. _

***

“What do you know. You were right.” Snap sounds baffled, and Kylo has sympathy for him.  


After all, there’s quite one thing knowing the antics the Resistance and Rebellion generally get up to, and then it’s another thing entirely knowing the weird and wacky things the Organa-Solo-Skywalker line have done, over the decades.

Kylo knows the private stories, the details they leave out of the public record. Far more of this has happened than anyone would be comfortable admitting. 

Chewie points out (for everyone who understands him) that it’s no surprise, and it’s more the backstabbing once the villain doesn’t win that you have to worry about. Not that he intends on leaving the _Falcon_ docked, as Luke, Rey **and** Poe are all pilots, the boarding party and rescuee are all capable of flying a ship _off_ the Star Destroyer. 

Kylo doesn’t even think about a reality where he’s the only one left standing, as the only non-pilot. He’s sure he’d sooner die than walk off without the three of them with him. This is _not_ how the Jedi end. No matter what Kylo thinks about their doctrine, he won’t let all the Light in the galaxy go out. 

A stinging pain in his temple and - “He’s… he’s taunting me. He’s… he wants us to face him. I don’t… feel Poe. What if he’s… what if he’s…?”

Rey puts her hand on his shoulder. “He’s fine, you would feel if he wasn’t. And we’re going to get him now, Kylo.”

He hopes so. The three of them, sabers in hand, go to the gangway. It isn’t even dropped fully when they land, leaping into formation: Luke, central, with Kylo to his left, and Rey to his right. Red, green and blue illuminate, and they walk in unison. Blasters train on them, but no one is stupid (or disobedient) enough to fire on them. 

It’s surreal, walking through the ship like this. Behind them, the _Falcon_ screams her way out again, fighting the closing jaws of the docking bay. He knows they will make it, they always do. On they go, through paths and patterns Kylo understands from the _Finalizer_ , though this ship is larger by far. He knows where Snoke is, and would, even without the rising tide of filth he can feel pouring off him. It makes it hard to focus, to try to find Poe through it all, and Kylo tries to punch through the heavy web, to find the other side. Tries to bore a hole in it, and–

**–a punch like a fist through his stomach to his spine, pulling, twisting, and the sound Poe makes when he screams and–**

“Kylo…” a hand on him, and he has to fight not to lunge at them - at - at - _Luke_ \- shaking the thought from his head.  


“He’s in my head.”  


“He’s in mine, too,” Rey says.   


“He can’t beat us all,” Luke says, his voice suddenly sure. “Come on. Not much further now.”  


On they go, and into a room Kylo knows only from holos. Into a room where a man, taller than anyone has any need to be towers over them. His old face is scored with attempts of others to end him, and he curls his long, serpentine fingers around the ends of his throne. 

“You were always too weak,” the Supreme Leader Snoke says. “Like your grandfather before you. Too weak to see things through to the real conclusion.”  


“Anakin Skywalker was not weak,” Luke says, his voice even and calm.   


Kylo feels anything but calm. “Where the fuck is Poe?”

“Somewhere I can control him.”  


Red. Red in his hand, behind his eyes. Kylo doesn’t give a _fuck_ if this anger makes him impossible to save. He doesn’t give **sweet damn fuck** if the rage in his coursing pulse is beyond the pale, if it’s the final straw. He needs. To. Save. Poe. 

Beside him, Luke and Rey’s blades level, evenly. His own is shaking, and he knows - knows he has to channel his rage, or else it will make him slip up, make him falter. “You will give me back my pilot.”

A hand, and a holo appears. Poe, conscious, gagged, bound… and holding on to something as he fights it. It’s not enough information to–

“Kill me, and the airlock he’s in will blow.”  


“You fucking–” Kylo surges at him in a senseless fit, hacking a slash from up left to down right, trying to cut the man in two, even with his threat to Poe’s life.  


“Kylo!”  


He’s sent flying back with an invisible hand, and it just makes his hackles raise higher. This _monster_ , this **bastard creature scum shit fuck** who ruined his whole damn _life_. He doesn’t get to hurt Poe, not on his watch. “You let my pilot go before I rip out your gonads and make you a new nose with them,” Kylo snarls, and throws himself into it again.

Luke and Rey charge in, too, then, and Kylo–

–feels the fire burn hot and angry and justified and fierce and–

– _Snoke is going to win if he lets him_ –

Kylo cuts his blade out and drops to one knee, hand swept out, and head lowered. He closes his eyes and lets the other two charge on, and he reaches **o u t**. Reaches, and pushes 

##  **_HARD._ **

With all he has. He finds the wall of Snoke’s will, blocking him from Poe. It’s not rage that fuels him, now, but love. There’s anger there, and he can feel it. Feel the fury and resentment, but it’s the knowledge that there’s _something more important than revenge_ right now, or that revenge comes from **winning** , not giving in to his hate. He’s not sure, but he blasts with all he can until he can find - 

_Poe?_

_Kylo?_

_I’m coming for you._

_What?_

***

Poe’s hands are shaking, but he knows he’s in an airlock, and if he lets go then if the seal blows, he’ll be jettisoned into the vacuum, and he really would rather not be jettisoned into the vacuum. He’s been in the emptiness of decompressed space before, but with a helmet and oxygen. Not with just his good self, and he’s rather invested in his continued existence. 

Kylo called out to him, and he is pretty sure it _was_ Kylo. He knows a lot has happened to mess with his head, but he feels like… it was… right? Maybe? Probably. It was… it felt like him. It felt like him, but now there’s–

– _cL_ **ICK** –

It moves, under his hands. Close to his hands. He feels the mechanism turn, the clunk in the door behind him vibrating through the small pod. The airlock is going to open, and he’s going to be vented into space. He’s going to–

_KYLO, KYLO FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING, HELP ME, PLEASE!_

He holds on tighter, sweat-wet hands struggling for purchase, and he can see a worried pale face on the other side of the transparisteel airlock door. 

_I’m trying, I’m trying…_

_If there was ever a time to be fast…_

Poe gulps deep breaths in, trying to get oxygen in as deep as he can without hyperventilating, knowing he has only seconds before everything _pops_ , and then he gulps the last one in and hopes there’s another to come in his not too distant future.

_Do you trust me?_

What a dumb question. Poe glares through the window. _Yes_.

He thinks it, and then suddenly he realises his body isn’t his own. There’s a sense slamming into him, and he fights for a moment before recognising it as Kylo, not Snoke. His head and everything seems to go slow, and he guesses Kylo’s controlling his metabolism, slowing his body down to extend the period it will manage this hypoxia for. His lungs burn, but then that’s turned off and there’s a weird detachment from sensation as Kylo buffers him.

It’s about as far from what Snoke did - or what Kylo did _last time_ as it’s possible to be. He’s blanketed from things, swaddled and held as safe as he can be. He knows Kylo has control of every last bit of him, but he also knows it’s only to save him. He watches as Kylo frantically tries to butcher the controls, and no doubt his Solo heritage comes in handy there because…

…kkkk _ssshhhhhhttttttnk_. 

The door behind closes, and then there’s a sudden vent of air and pressure back in, rushing his head and making his ears swell in protest, even with the slow flood. He drops to his knees, groggy, and when the door opens, he’s grabbed in warm arms.

“Poe… oh, Maker… I thought I lost you…”  


Poe’s cold, and he hurts, and Kylo is so deliciously warm and safe and here, and he burrows his hands under his arms, cuddling into his chest. “S-snoke?”

“Luke and Rey are–”  


Another wash of hate, directed right at them, and Kylo growls, and Poe is aware of the lifting sense of dread. Kylo must be blocking, or fighting him off. He hisses in relief, but also worry. “Do you need to go help them?”

“I–”  


“I’m not saying alone. You get me up, and I’ll stagger. Maybe I’m no use, but _you_ are _.”_ And it’s true. Poe can’t go up against a Darksider like Snoke, couldn’t even keep his own mind and body free, but Kylo’s here, fighting him off, and that means…  


“Alright. Come on.”  


***

Kylo hefts Poe against his side, taking a lot of his weight as they go back towards the battle proper. When the door opens, they see the two Jedi bouncing around the room. There’s thrown furniture, panting fighters, scorched clothing and likely skin and flesh, too. 

He sees the two Jedi whirl, and he knows if he joined in the physical battle that his patterns, his rhythms, could easily throw them off. No. He can do something different. With an arm around Poe’s waist, he feels the reassuring heat and pressure against him. He feels the safety of him, and the way Poe’s very existence is a grounding point. 

“Stay close,” says Kylo, and then he puts himself between Poe and the towering Darksider.   


This was never going to be a battle of saber-blades, not really. Kylo tried that last time, and almost died. The two Jedi whirl faster together, and things fly more frantically, and Kylo knows there’s one way to win.

It isn’t calm meditation that fuels him. It isn’t hot-blooded rage. It isn’t mad-fast feel, nor is it levelness… it’s something born of both. It’s hate, but tempered into a rational response. It’s fear, but with the odds thought through. It’s a swelling, protective sensation pushed out, made external. His mind is there, before the act, a step away from animal reaction. It’s a _choice_ , and he still **feels** , but the feeling isn’t in control. He’s in control. He’s _in. Control_.

Kylo reaches into himself, into all the emotion he can feel. He’s born of Dark, as much as Light. And the Dark - real Dark - comes from the heart, not from the act. The fear of the small child, the impotent rage of the teenager, the passionate desire of the adult, and the self-sacrificing love of the _man_. He powers the blow like a Death Star charging, and he slams it out with concentrated, honed precision. Slams it out, and into Snoke, and he staggers him. 

Invisible blows, like the ones that rained down on his head as a child. Invisible _power_ , like the Dark shroud that had smothered him. 

The Force that flows through him again, that he’s welcomed back, that reconnected when he was ready to use it. When he was healed enough, when he was _whole_ enough. The Force that was both his burden and his badge of honour and his bludgeon. He pushes and pushes and as he does so, the two Jedi gain ground. 

Blue-green against red, and Snoke is staggering. Kylo feels the other’s fear, then. Feels panic, and doubt. It’s enough, and Kylo reaches into himself and out comes white bolts of lightning, arcing out, sinking into Snoke as he drops, fighting it off, but unable to.

Kylo has no idea if the power is corrupting his body, but his mind feels clear. He channels it, a conduit for the greater source that is always external. The Force flows from his fingers, and then there’s a fall of someone’s blade and then it’s like the elastic sheet that he’s pushed down on prangs back into his face. Kylo staggers, the lighting shorting out, and then… Snoke… is dead. Snoke is dead.

And Kylo looks to Poe, waiting for horror and disgust to register in response to his face. _This is when the Darkness takes over your body, Kylo_ , he says to himself. _This was your last step away from the Light._

He gets none, no horror, and he doesn’t know why. Instead, Poe grabs his shirt and pulls him down for a kiss, and Kylo is _only too happy to comply_.

They’re safe. All of them. Now all they need to do is _escape_. 


End file.
